


It's 3am (I must be lonely)

by a_dale



Series: Your Soul is Bound to Mine [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: 3 am, All mistakes are mine, Frank sees what he's got and grabs it with both hands, Ginny was Harry's first soulmate, I haven't slept in two days folks, I wrote and posted this in an airport, M/M, Matt Murdock helping a guy out, Maybe - Freeform, Red String of Fate, Second Soulmate, Soulmate AU, WHAT IS SLEEP, don't post on other sites, idek, kind of sad Harry?, matchbox twenty - Freeform, not so much sad as just... melancholic, she died in the cos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 22:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dale/pseuds/a_dale
Summary: Frank watched his string disappear the day his wife and children were murdered.Then he felt a tug.





	It's 3am (I must be lonely)

**Author's Note:**

> What does sleep feel like again?
> 
> Also, please please please don't repost my works guys. I work really hard on them and it really sucks to see that they've been reposted without my consent. I only post on here these days. 
> 
> Also also, I wrote this at 3am while listening to 3am by Matchbox Twenty so that's all folks 
> 
> also also also, this is 100% not edited so all mistakes are mine and just ignore them for my sanity please 
> 
> Also also also also - this was a request but I lost the request thing so I'm so sorry whoever you are, this is for you I swear.

He was tucked into the shadows in the mouth of an alley; hands tucked in his pockets and cap pulled low over his face. He wasn’t technically working tonight - but that didn’t mean he wanted to be spotted.

He’d heard rumour that there was some shit going down in this part of town anyways, and it wasn’t like he really trusted the devil to get it done.

He felt the sneer curl his lips again as he thought about the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He was pretty sure Red had ruined more lives than he’d saved with his philosophy; after all, what’s the use of leaving them alive and crippled where they can still work for the shitheads in charge when you could just take out the whole lot of them?

He shrugged his shoulders to release some of the tension that had built in his shoulders and decided it was time to move. It was 3am after all, and if they hadn't shown up by now, chances were slim that they would at all. 

Right as he stepped towards the mouth of the alley he felt the tug on his hand, and he ripped his hand out of his pocket, staring at his hand with the blood rushing in his ears.

There was nothing there; his hand was empty; but he knew his own body well enough to know when he felt something.

The bile rose in his throat at even the thought of another person being tied to him.

His string had disappeared when his wife had died and he’d never even imagined another one would appear.

When his hand started to shake, he shoved it back into his pocket, gritting his teeth against the wave of nausea.

Looked like he’d be searching out Red after all.

>>>

“Didn’t know you were working tonight, Frank.” came the devil’s voice from behind him, and Frank rolled his eyes. Sarcastic little fucker.

He could admit though, when they weren’t fighting over philosophies, he did actually like the asshole.

He also liked to punch him in the head, but hey, he never claimed to be well adjusted.

“M’not. Was looking for you.” he turned in time to see Red tilt his cowled face the side, the cock of his head the most obvious giveaway now that Frank knew the truth that behind the mask he was blind as a bat.

“Why?”

“Karen mentioned once you could see people’s strings.” he admitted, and though Red stiffened, he didn’t run off. Frank pushed on. “Mine disappeared with Maria. But today I felt a tug.” he pulled his hand out of his pocket again, and he could feel that phantom pull again. He flinched. “Thing is, I can’t see a damn thing.”

Red stepped closer and when he was within reach, he extended a cautious hand. Frank dropped his own hand into Red’s and watched him carefully. Ever so slowly, he reached for where Frank had felt the tug, and watched as Red actually traced his fingers along an invisible string.

The rooftop seemed to lurch under his feet when, with the touch, a string wavered into view, bright red and tied neatly around his pinky.

He must’ve actually pitched forward because next thing he knew, Red’d grabbed tight hold of his shoulders, lowering his to the ground.

“When did you feel it for the first time?”

“Alley off of 45th.” For a minute he could almost feel the judgment coming off Red and he scowled at him, yanking his hand back. “Don’t start that shit with me, Red. I’m off duty.” he all but snarled.

Red immediately put his hands up in surrender, but it was obvious his attention was still on the string.

“From everything I know, new strings only appear when both parties are close together.” his head tilted again,thoughtful this time as he tilted his ear in the direction of 45th. Frank still had a hard time believing he could actually hear that far, but he’d seen it in action. “Did you see anyone?”

“Nah, not when I felt it. Just me. Was just moving on.” he admitted gruffly. Red nodded, and that’s when Frank felt the tug again. He’d never felt it like this before; never so insistent and edgy.

“Ever hear anything about tugs?” He asked, uncomfortable and worried and just a little bit horrified by what it could mean. He couldn’t survive having a soulmate again. He wasn’t sure he’d survived having a first one.

“We should follow it.” and without even any warning, Red was off, leaping across rooftops and launching over the gaps between the buildings. With a muttered curse, Frank gave chase.

>>>

Harry had never expected to see the red string around his hand ever again. He hadn’t had one since he was 12 years old in the Chamber of Secrets and had watched the last bit of life drain out of Ginny Weasley’s body moments before he’d managed to kill the snake and destroy the diary. He’d been so devastated that he didn’t even actually remember destroying the diary; he just knew that when professor Dumbledore found him deep in the chamber, the whole place was scorched from a fire he didn’t remember, except for where Ginny’s body lay, and all that remained of the diary was a pile of ash.

Colour him surprised when, 25 years later, counting change in a corner store in New York City, he felt the tug on his hand, and saw a red string tie itself around his pinky finger moments before an armed gunman stormed into the shop.

“You - on the ground!” the man shouted at Harry, even as another man followed him in with another gun and a sack, shoving the bag at the man behind the counter.

“In the bag, old man.” the voice sneered. Harry frowned, lowering himself down. His wand was in its holster on his arm, but he didn’t exactly want to break the statute of secrecy if he could avoid it. He was already in trouble with the American authorities for an incident involving a group of extremists that had come after him in broad daylight.

Apparently they didn’t like when citizens dealt with problems themselves, feeling as if it made them look incompetent.

Harry had pointed out they obviously didn’t need him for that, already irritated from being attacked and then berated for defending himself.

“Hurry up!” the man at the counter demanded, slamming a hand down and shoving the gun closer to the shopkeepers face, and Harry sighed. He couldn’t just let this go.

Even as he flicked his wrist, his wand sliding into his hand, the power shut off.

“Shit.” one of the men cursed, and the one who’d ordered him to get down reached out for him.

Muttering a tripping jinx under his breath, Harry darted down an aisle, out of sight, ducking down. His adrenaline had started pumping the moment the lights had gone off, his instincts telling him the robbers weren’t the most dangerous thing around.

“Come on man, we have to get out of here!” one of the men was all but shouting, and Harry glimpsed the second man grabbing the bag of cash and levelling his gun at the shopkeeper. Even as he raised his wand, the door slammed open. He had a brief glance of two shapes; one slighter with _horns_; and one stockier, darker somehow. The shiver went down his spine and he ducked further down.

The two robbers shouted and a single shot was fired before a sickening crack was followed by blood curdling scream rang out and Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Nothing that could make sounds like that could be any good.

He glanced at the door, heart racing, and wondered if maybe he should just apparate.

Then a shadow fell over him and he shrank back further instinctually.

“Hey, not gonna hurt you.” and the voice was gruff even as the stocky figure crouched down. Harry was met with dark brown eyes in a rough face; ruddy tan, stubble, square jaw and a nose that looked like it had been broken and reset a few times. “You hit?”

Harry blinked, embarrassed to have been distracted.

“Pardon?” heavy brows drew together in a frown.

“Are you hurt?”

“Oh! Oh. No.” then he flinched remembering the sound of bone snapping. “Whatever you and your friend want, I’ll give you. You don’t need to hurt the shopkeeper.” and he hoped the man in question hadn’t already been hurt, but he couldn’t tell under the whimpers still sounding from the two robbers.

The frown turned to a scowl before the man shook his head.

“M’not gonna hurt him. Or you.” Harry couldn’t help the relief that rushed through him.

“That’s excellent then.” but he still didn’t move. The man heaved a sigh, staring at him another moment until Harry felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. Then he stood, glancing around the shop before offering Harry a hand up. Cautious, Harry accepted it.

The moment their hands grasped, it was like an elastic band snapped. The red string curled out of nowhere, wrapping itself around their wrists and twining together before curling towards their pinkies. On the man’s hand, it merged itself with the string already looped there, but the other end tied itself neatly around Harry’s own finger.

His breath shuddered out and for a moment he was sure he was going to just pass out from the shock of it.

He looked up to meet the man’s gaze; to really _look_ at the man who was apparently his soulmate after all these years; and found those same dark eyes watching him back just as intently.

“What’s your name?” and his voice had gone gruff, heavy with emotion Harry didn’t even know how to start deciphering.

“Harry.” he received a grunt in return, then,

“Frank.”

“We need to leave. Police are on their way.” Harry jerked in surprise at the new voice, having completely forgotten that Frank hadn’t shown up alone. Frank seemed to anticipate the motion though, because he used Harry’s surprise to tug him closer, all but tucking him behind Frank’s broad form. He stared at Frank in surprise, hands still clasped, before he looked past Frank to see the second man, and realized that it really was horns on the man’s head. Or helmet rather.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, and Frank made an irritated sound in the back of his throat.

“That’s Red. Ignore him. Got a flare for the dramatics.”

Harry snorted. That was an understatement.

“Frank.” the so-called ‘Red’ pressed, and Frank sighed.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re coming.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up.

“Are we?”

Those dark eyes turned back on him even as Frank’s hand tightened around his.

“Planning on running?” Frank asked, almost a challenge, and Harry felt that Gryffindor pride flare up in his chest; the one that wouldn’t let him back down from such a statement.

“Not a chance.”

The smirk that followed said that Frank knew exactly what had just happened, but he didn’t argue, instead, he let Frank slide his hand into his other one, tangling their fingers together before shoving their joined hands into one of his pockets.

“Come on. Red’s right. I can’t be here when the police show up.” that alone had alarm bells ringing but it was probably too late as Harry found himself being pulled from the shop and down the street.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can talk. In private.” and the latter half was obviously aimed at whoever this ‘Red’ was.

“Some people would say you were ungrateful.”

“Some people couldn’t actually hit if they wanted to shoot you.” was the growled response. Harry had a feeling it wasn’t at all a joke.

The comment was met by a huff of laughter before the man in question disappeared by flipping up onto a rooftop.

Harry stared after where the man had gone a moment before finally looking back to Frank. He felt at a loss for words.

“Come on.” Frank finally said, breaking the silence, and so Harry followed.

>>>

Almost two hours later, Frank was sitting across from Harry in one of his favourite coffee shops. He’d wanted to sit next to him; to keep contact as long as possible; but the moment he’d tried to shuffle him into the booth, Harry’s whole body had stiffened and he’d skirted away and sat on the other side.

Recognizing the nerves as not wanting to feel trapped, Frank let him, but it didn’t mean he was happy about it.

He wasn’t really sure what to do about Harry - what to feel even - but hell if he was going to let him go easily.

“You’re not my first.” he found himself admitting, and watched the shock cross Harry’s face, followed close behind with _relief_. It made his eyes go so big, and so green, that Frank was pretty sure the colour was in no way natural. But he couldn’t see colour contacts and Harry was wearing glasses so he probably hadn’t had cosmetic surgery done. Considering the perfectly shaped lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and the words in the back of his hand, not to mention the quality but worn clothes, Frank was fairly certain Harry didn’t waste money on cosmetics.

“Me either. I mean, you’re not mine either.” Harry blurted out, confirming Frank’s suspicion, and he wondered just how long ago Harry had lost his soulmate to look this shell shocked to be finding a new one. Since he couldn’t read any grief, he was going to guess it was a long time ago.

He leaned back, resting his hands casually on the table, and watched Harry’s gaze snap to the string on his finger. Ever so carefully, he tugged on it, and watched Harry’s arm jerk in response, followed closely by a blush before Harry met his gaze defiantly. He found himself smiling despite himself.

Then the reality set in.

“Her name was Maria. She was killed. Her and our kids. Bad people tend to go after me.” he leaned forward, unsure of whether he was trying to just scare the other man or chase him off, knowing full well he’d just follow. “Now I go after them first.”

Harry met Frank’s gaze easily; staring right back at the violence that had coiled like a snake around Frank’s body. He didn’t doubt for a second that Frank meant that literally. Like an echo, the memory of the bone snapping followed by the horrific scream replayed in his mind, and Harry wondered if Frank left all his victims like that or if he just killed them.

He wondered what it said about him that he thought it was better to kill then to maim. He pushed that question to the back of his mind for later.

“Her name was Ginny. I was 12. The man trying to kill me used her to get to me. Drained the life out of her. She was 11.”

Frank jerked back as if bitten.

“_12_?” there was a low fury in his voice that dropped it to a gravelly sound, and Harry wasn’t sure what was more alarming; the fear that snuck down his spine, or the arousal that followed it.

“He’s dead now. I killed him.” and there was no emotion behind the statement; it’d been far too long and far too many things had happened since to allow the man who’d been Lord Voldemort to occupy that much of his thoughts.

“When?”

“I was 17.” he grinned then, the expression all teeth. “He killed me first. It didn’t stick.”

He met Frank’s gaze evenly again, chin up, defensive, but unwilling to back down. If Frank thought he could scare him off with talk of death and murder, he’d have to try a lot harder.

“It’s not pretty. My life. I’m legally dead. I’m a wanted criminal.”

“For the revenge of your family?”

Frank shook his head, glancing around before leaning forward on his elbows, dark eyes glittering.

“For cleaning up the streets.”

He barely resisted shuddering.

“Do you kill them?” he asked, voice low. Frank nodded, never breaking his gaze.

“I have a saving people thing.”

Frank’s brow dropped, shadowing his gaze.

“These people, they ain’t worth saving.”

Harry swallowed, looking out the window.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you? The vigilantes of New York?” and even as he asked, he could see the picture forming in his mind. The white skull. Frank nodded.

“What do they call you?”

“The Punisher.”


End file.
